


Connecting The Dots

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-23
Updated: 2010-09-23
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8706355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Mental illness!Jensen. Supportive!Jared. Unfinished.Warnings: Drug use, violence, mental illness, suicide issues, past abuse.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

_'Do you understand what is like? To want to die? To stop feeling these feelings that are indescribable? One minute it's a little nudge in the back of your mind, and then it relocates. It takes over your heart; your chest; your thinking. Then it’s the only thought in your mind._

_It's a plague of never-ending emptiness and nothing, the feeling of feeling nothing at all. Maybe it's confusion, maybe I am feeling, maybe my brain has had enough of the feeling of self-hatred, so it's given up feeling... at all._

_This is my suicide note. I have no thank-you's or no 'I'm sorry I did this', the people who might care that I'm gone, will understand._

_I've been fighting this battle for too long. I need to stop before my thoughts kill me._

_But now they have. I lost. Hate me for it._

_\- Jensen.'_

Donna Ackles crushed the piece of paper between her hands, sighing angrily at herself that she let Jensen move out under the circumstances based around Jensen's illness, or disorder, whichever one the doctors felt like calling it today. The image of her son, his skin cold and clammy stuck to the back of her eyelids, refusing her peace when she closed her eyes. Only the taste of poison was evoked by the sight. He'd overdosed, but he wasn't dead. Not yet. 

Jensen was successful in what he did, although he had his problems, he seemed to be on the mend. Working with teens with mental illnesses, coupled with his therapy with Doctor, Misha Collins, who Jensen had become quite good friends with.

Now this. Now Jensen was getting his stomach pumped, again. This was the fifteenth time Jensen had done this. The first time being when he was thirteen, and he had overdosed on the antidepressants prescribed to him by the doctor he had at the time.

Now Jensen was 26, with no girlfriend and an apartment he'd paid for himself. He was doing so well.  
Donna looked up as Jared almost ran head-on into the seat she was slumped in. 'Jared,' Donna said, looking surprised that he was here, in the hospital. Jensen was going to flip.

'Mrs. Ackles, is he okay?' Jared breathed, panting slightly. Donna assumed he’d either ran from home, or the car park. 'Jared, you shouldn't be here,' Donna whispered, standing slowly. Jared looked at her incredulously, frowning slightly. 'Jensen would flip if you found out.' She stated.

'I don't care. I'm staying. I need to see him. I have to make sure he's okay,' Jared said firmly, taking a seat next to Donna.  
'Where’s Alan? Don't mean to pry, but... .’ Jared said, resting his head in his hands. 'He, um, Alan believes there is nothing wrong with our Jensen, that he puts it all on,' Donna pursed her lips before deciding on speaking again.

'Jensen has a couple... issues, Jared. Nobody knows of them aside from Mackenzie and myself. We don't count Alan, because he doesn't agree, but, sometimes he becomes... weird, I guess. Different. He was doing really well for the last couple of years. No signs of self-harm, no suicidal ideation. I let him move out, Jared. He wanted to be independent, and look where he is now,' Donna sighed, obviously angry or upset at herself.

'Donna,' Jared turned to look at her, smiling sympathetically before speaking again, 'It's not your fault, I mean, Jensen is in here because he probably wasn't coping. That’s not your fault. I don't blame him, either though.’

'You're a good man, Jared. Jensen needs people like you.' Donna smiled before asking if Jared wanted a coffee and then leaving, headed for the hospital Cafe.  
X-x-x  
Jensen awoke slowly, the edges of his vision blurry from the drug-induced grogginess. It was morning, outside it was sunny and bright. Jensen hated it. It hadn't worked; how the fuck did he get here? Last thing he remembered was downing the bottle of Jack right after the entire box of his antidepressants, Zoloft, then lying down and waiting for the combination to work its magic.

Now he's in hospital, the deepest of the cuts on his arms stitched closed, a drip in his arm and the room empty.

Jensen hated the stitches, so he began to pick them out. The more he undid, the wider the slash in his left arm became. The wound had already begun to heal. Sadly Jensen stopped picking.

He'd be out in a couple days; He knew it. Here, in Dallas, it wasn't common for someone to attempt suicide, and there really was no mental hospital except for the tiny part of this one that he'd be moved to later, now that he was awake.

He'd lie his way through the psychiatric evaluation like every other time. Don't say anything out of the ordinary, don't say about the voices. Keep it plain and simple: He just wanted to die. They'd pin it down to his 'depression.' If they knew the full story, he'd probably be hospitalized for the rest of his life, but they won’t know, nobody will.

Jared came through the door, and panic struck Jensen's body like a thousand hot and cold touches. Screwing his eyes closed, everything around Jensen began to spin. The voices were back, whispering in his ear in some weird language. Probably English, but there were so many of them that the words just all mixed together.

He knew what it was: Anxiety induced hallucinations. He'd looked all of it up, he didn't need a diagnosis.  
'Jensen?' Jared called, and the spinning stopped. The voices were gone. Jensen opened his eyes slowly, seeing the concern that painted Jared's face thickly. "Uh... hey," Jensen tried to smile, but couldn't. He just wanted to be dead.

 

How fucking hard can it be to just die?  
'What happened? I spoke to your mum,' Jared said, smiling sympathetically. That made Jensen angry. 'I don’t need your fucking sympathy, Jared. Whatever Mum has told you, she's lying. I'm not sick. There is nothing wrong with me!' Jensen hastily rolled over, facing the wall away from Jared.

'Jensen, you're in hospital... this is the fifteenth time you've almost killed yourself.' At this, Jensen clenched his teeth.  
It was all coming undone; All his hard work for nothing, all finished.  
'You don't understand, nobody does,' Jensen said softly.'Help me to understand then, please, Jen? I want to help.' Jared sounded too optimistic.  
Jensen just stayed quiet and stared at the white hospital walls that metaphorically read 'Institutionalized'.  
Great. Jensen's greatest fear and he was living it.

x-x-x

Six days later and Jensen was at home again. He knew his head wasn't any better, and as he predicted they'd put his suicide attempt down to his depression. Allowed to leave the hospital, but should be under watch, so Jared was staying with him. It'd been good, Jensen had to admit, having someone around, someone willing to listen when you needed to talk. Not that Jensen did talk, but the option was there.

Cutting was still a big part of Jensen's life, and hiding it had become hard to hide when Jared was living with him, so he'd begun to cut his hips, inside the area that’s covered by underwear.

It was suggested that Jensen didn't go to work, so he applied for two weeks leave.  
Jensen had decided one night, while Jared was out getting something for dinner, that he didn't like his apartment.  
Jensen cleaned and cleaned, until everything was tip-top shape, a bedroom became a lounge room and the lounge room became Jensen's bedroom. The bed was just being pushed into place when Jared walked through the front door. 

'What?' His eyes widened, turning to look at Jensen. 'Jensen?' he asked.  
'I didn't like it. The apartment, I mean. Something had to change,' Jensen said, like it was perfectly normal.  
'Alright, let’s eat,' Jared smiled, putting the take-away down on the kitchen counter before getting plates out.

 

Jensen ate the McDonalds quietly, sneaking a few quick glances at Jared while he did. ‘Want to tell me why you re-arranged the whole house?’ Jared asked around his mouthful of food. ‘I told you, Jared. I didn’t like it, okay?’ Jensen looked embarrassed and kind of hurt when Jared replied 'I want to understand, Jensen. Help me understand you, you're my best friend, I don’t like seeing you like this," to which Jensen replied, jumping up from the seat and crying: 'You don't have to watch me, Jared. You don't fucking have to be here! I'm 26-years old! I can look after my fucking self!' the tears streaming, by the time the words had passed his lips.

Jared stood and walked around the table while Jensen cried, watching him slide to the floor and wrapping his arms around his knees like a small child.  
Jared noticed the empty, tear filled eyes before he saw the horror. It was like Jensen was no longer Jensen. Horror spread Jensen's face, the blankness in his eyes beginning to fade.  
Then the wracking sobs came, and the incoherent babbling that consisted of 'please, no’ and 'leave me alone.' Jared slid down to the floor, pulling Jensen into his arms as he cried.  
x-x-x  
'Sounds like Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Jared,' the woman on the phone said into his ear, and Jared sighed. She continued, 'But that doesn't sound like all it is, are you sure he won’t come in and see me? That’s really the only way I can help him,' the woman said calmly. 'Yeah, I know. Thanks, Dr. Palmer, I'll give you an update in a couple of days,' Jared replied, saying goodbye and hanging up the phone and walking in the door.

Inside the apartment was a smoky haze. It smelt like marijuana, and there, in the middle of the lounge room was a stoned-out-of-his-brain Jensen, smiling stupidly at him.

'Hey!' Jensen drawled, dragging the word out so it sounded more like 'Heeeeeeeeey' with a little giggle at the end of the word. 'You smoke pot?' Jared asked with raised eyebrows. "Yeah, sometimes when I need to escape and I can't cu-" Jensen's eyes went wide when he realised what he was saying, getting up and running into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Jared was dumbfounded. He'd known Jensen for years, never once saw him like this, never saw him smoke pot; or cry; or have those dead eyes. His best friend was fragile, broken.

Jared wanted to fix Jensen, to make all of it stop.  
'Jensen?' Jared called, leaning against the closed door. The sound of running water filled the bathroom. 'Go away,' Jensen said, his voice shaking.

Jensen was emotionally fragile, Jared knew from the events of the night before, but now Jensen seemed... emotionally disturbed? Not in a bad way, but in a way that never helped anyone.

'Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? Alright, let’s get our research on, Jared.' Jared thought, walking away from Jensen's little fortress and towards the laptop sitting innocuously on the wooden coffee table.

Jared opened up Google, searched PTSD and clicked the first link.  
 _"Posttraumatic stress disorder (also known as post-traumatic stress disorder or PTSD) is a severe anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to any event that results in psychological trauma. This event may involve the threat of death to oneself or to someone else, or to one's own or someone else's physical, sexual, or psychological integrity, overwhelming the individual's ability to cope. As an effect of psychological trauma, PTSD is less frequent and more enduring than the more commonly seen acute stress response._

Diagnostic symptoms for PTSD include re-experiencing the original trauma(s) through flashbacks or nightmares, avoidance of stimuli associated with the trauma, and increased arousal – such as difficulty falling or staying asleep, anger, and hyper vigilance. Formal diagnostic criteria (both DSM-IV-TR and ICD-9) require that the symptoms last more than one month and cause significant impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning."  
Jared was no medical mental health professional, but if something were wrong with Jensen, this was likely to be it. It explained the sudden deadness in his eyes and the 'flashbacks', if that’s even what he was experiencing.

Jared stood from the coffee table, taking the laptop with him and sitting next to the bathroom door. 'Jensen?' he called again like he had 15 minutes ago. 'Go away,' Jensen repeated.  
'Posttraumatic Stress Disorder,' Jared stated, and the door opened. 'What?' Jensen said, his head poking out. He'd stopped crying.  
'Post-traumatic Stress Disorder,' Jared repeated, and Jensen frowned.  
'You need help, Jensen. You can't do this on your own.' Jared said, smiling softly.  
'But I have you,' Jensen whispered hopefully.  
Jared pulled Jensen into his arms, holding him tight, lowering his lips to Jensen's temple and pressing lightly.  
'Yeah, I'll always be here, Jen.'  



End file.
